


Once You’re Eighteen

by Toria_Pancakess



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Brothers, Drama, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Gen, Newsies - Freeform, Protective Siblings, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 10:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14850791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toria_Pancakess/pseuds/Toria_Pancakess
Summary: Once Jack turns eighteen, where will that leave Crutchie? Jack is ready to move onto his adulthood, leaving Crutchie behind at fifteen.





	Once You’re Eighteen

**Author's Note:**

> I am in no way a professional writer. I simply do this for my own enjoyment. 
> 
> Warnings for swearing, eventual violence, and canon ableist terms.

September 12th, 1899

The fifty newspapers stuck in the dirty satchel weighed down upon his back like a boulder straight out of hell. Crutchie adjusted the sack, having to lean, heavily, on his old wooden crutch and left foot to avoid putting too much pressure on his bad leg. The young Newsie swung the heavy sack onto his left hip, making his way down 11th street with an ear to ear grin. Always out there, carrying the banner. 

Crutchie smiled at the folks he passed, wiping away the sticky sweat that trickled down his forehead. Sometimes all it takes is a smile that spreads like butter. “Paper, Mista’?” He held up the newest edition of The Morning World to an old business man passing by. The man gave him an abhorred glance, as he looked him over, then shooed him off like a bug. 

The fifteen-year old sighed, adjusting the newspapers he held between dirty fingers. Boldly, printed across the top of the newsprint, in fancy lettering read: “The Morning World” He scanned the paper looking for an interesting headline. Some political nonsense, using words too big for him to understand. An old bakery going bankrupt? Pulitzer seemed to like making it harder for the Newsies to sell his papers. Crutchie continued skimming through the pages, then there at the bottom: “Small kitchen fire, family saved.” 

Crutchie held the paper up. “Blazin’ Fire! Family missin’ children!” He hated having to lie or exaggerate the headlines (Katherine called it Yellow Journalism), but Jack was right, if Crutchie planned on eating or affording his rent he needed people to be interested in the headlines. 

“Read all about it!” Another man pushed his way passed him, almost knocking Crutchie off his already unsteady feet. 

He smiled to a young woman, holding the hand of her identical daughter. “Paper, Missus?” He was pushing all his weight onto his left foot in efforts to keep himself upright. 

She checked him over frowning. He wished for a free hand to wipe away the gross blotches of dirt that were most certainly covering his dimples. When he was younger, Jack used to tell him how lucky he was to have such a nice smile and a good personality. It helped him sell more papes. 

She seemed to notice how heavy his satchel was. Crutchie certainly wouldn’t deny that it was hurting his back. He stood looking up at her with his bad foot dragging behind. The mother reached into her purse and pulled out a shiny, silver coin. “You poor, Dear.” She reached out to touch his cheek but one look at how dirty he was, her hand was immediately gripping her daughter’s shoulder. “I’d love a newspaper.” She cocked her head and gave him a sympathetic smile. 

Crutchie leaned on his left foot as they exchanged the newspaper and coin. “Keep the change, Honey.” Crutchie’s hazel eyes widened, his smile melting into an enraptured grin. Sitting in the center of his own dirty palm was a shiny new quarter. Jack’s Birthday was coming up next week and he still had yet to buy a gift for the older boy. Sketchbooks weren’t as cheap as he thought and the pencils were almost impossible to come across. Maybe he’d just treat Jack to an ice cream cone? That was lame. He’d have to make the dollar it would cost him for a sketchbook.

Crutchie’s face lit up as he looked back up at the woman, a crooked grin spread, perfectly, across his cheeks. “Thank you much, Missus!”

The mother squeezed her daughters shoulders, “Wave to the Newsie, Evelyn.” The little girl gave a childish flap of her hand toward Crutchie then allowed her mother to guide her away. 

There was a slight pang in his heart. The much hidden desire to see his own mother again, if only for a moment. Crutchie chewed on his bottom lip, a nasty habit of his that Jack was trying to get him to break. He held up another paper, trying to force away the foggy memories. His mother was long gone, taken by the Scarlett Fever almost six years back. He brushed away his thoughts, there were still forty-nine more papers, weighing his bag down. 

Crutchie adjusted his grip on the crutch, sitting under his right arm. The sun had barely begun to rise and he already felt sore. He lifted his leg, right foot still dragging, unable to sit right. 

“Paper, Mista’?” He held up the newest edition of The Morning World. “Family missin’ Children afta’ blazin’ fires!” He gave a crooked smirk. “Read all about it!” 

This man also must have noticed how heavy the sack of newspapers was. He looked Crutchie over before exchanging the newspaper with a rusty penny. The ruffled Crutchie’s hair, “Have a good day, Kiddo” 

Crutchie gave a nod, “Thanks, Mista’.” He shoved the penny into his pocket and pulled out another newspaper. 

It was a long morning that really made him regret only poking at his dinner last night. His stomach couldn’t seem to keep its self settled, not that he wasn’t used to being hungry. He was definitely plenty used to going days without much besides water and a few pieces of old bread. Jack had always made sure he had something to eat, especially during the heavy New York winters. No one wanted to be outside so the Newsies were forced to go door to door just to scrape up enough to pay rent and feed themselves. 

Last winter had been especially bad with the great blizzard. Most of the Newsies, including himself, had been stuck with dreary colds. The sick boys huddled by the fireplace, in earnest attempt to stay warm, while the healthy boys did their best to sell enough to buy them all food. They all prayed this winter wouldn’t be a repeat of that. 

Crutchie hugged his crutch bearing arm to his chest as his stomach yelled at him again. He’d forgotten to grab some soup and bread from the nuns. Biting on his lip, he held up the newspaper shouting more nonsense about missing children and fires. This went on for another hour, before he was sure he’d collapse from starvation and he still had another 47 more papers to sell. 

Another young mother, heading off early to the market approached him. “You poor thing, of course, I’ll take a newspaper.” She traded him a dime for a paper, then looked him over, sighing to herself. 

“Thank you, Miss!” He called out as she walked away. He stared in a awe at that shiny silver coin, before shoving it into his pocket to count with the others later. 

Leaving such a big tip for a measly Newsie was uncommon. Crutchie figured the tips were for carrying around a heavy sack of papes. Though everyone always seemed to notice how heavy his bag of newspapers was, of course it was always his bag they seemed to notice. Not Jack’s or Finch’s or Elmer’s. It was always his. 

Jack’s teachings of Yellow Journalism seemed to have spread to Crutchie’s natural being because he knew that was a lie. He knew no one ever really cared if just any Newsie’s bag was heavy. He knew exactly what they were actually noticing. Crutchie was very used to selling sympathy papes. He was a cripple and he didn’t need the Delancy Brothers it anyone else to remind him of that. 

The use of his right leg had been taken so long ago, it was hard to remember a time where he could walk and run just as freely as the other Newsies. “Damn, Polio.” He spat under his breath as he clenched onto the thin strap of his bag. 

“Eh, Crutchie!” 

His thoughts were broken by the sound of a familiar voice. Crutchie swung his head around to come face to face with another grubby looking Newsie. The boy appeared a few years older than Crutchie with his added height and cigar sticking out of his mouth. 

“Heya, Race.” Crutchie greeted with a wave of a newspaper. 

“Jack’s been lookin’ for ya’. Where ya’ been, Kid? Them nuns is almost done servin’ breakfast.” 

Crutchie shrugged, “Ain’t all that hungry.” There he goes lying again. His stomach had been doing a good job reminding him of how hungry he was. “Honest, Race and you can tell Jack I said so.” He really just wanted to sell the rest of his papes and maybe have enough extra to buy a sketchbook for Jack. Then if he had extra he could grab some lunch with his best friend. Ever since the strike ended, the two hadn’t been spending as much time together. Jack was distracted with Katherine and his new job, while Crutchie was still hawking newspapers. 

Race shook his head. “Oh, no. You is eating somethin’.” The older Newsie grabbed the paper out of Crutchie’s hands and shoved it back into his old satchel. “I ain’t listening to Jack worry about ya’.” He grabbed Crutchie’s forearm and began to forcefully ease him back toward the lodging house. 

“Racer, I was in the middle of sellin’. Jack would understand.” He wasn’t trying to whine, he really wasn’t but sometimes Race was just too persistent. 

“It’s only a little after six. You know there ain’t that many cust’mers running ‘round yet.” Crutchie chewed on his lower lip, trying to ignore the truthfulness in the older boy’s words. Customers didn’t really come out until at least seven. Fathers on their way to work, mothers off to the market, and children heading to school. “And if you don’t eat now your gonna be starvin’ by the time it really gets busy.” A small grumble from Crutchie’s stomach had Race sending him the most pissed of glare he could muster. 

“Ain’t Jack gonna be workin’ with Pulitzer, an’way?” Crutchie spoke up, trying to bring the attention away from himself. “No time to be worryin’ about me.” 

Race swung an arm around Crutchie’s shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. “Kid, Jack ain’t ever not gonna worry ‘bout ya.” He elbowed Crutchie in the chest with a playful smile. “Don’t ya know that?”

“He shouldn’t hafta worry ‘bout me though.” Crutchie grumbled. 

“Well, it’d help if you’d stop givin’ him a reason to.” Race gave him a playful punch in the side, making Crutchie wince. “Ya’ such a troublemaker, Kid.” Crutchie laughed. Sure Race may have been rough around the edges and a little addicted to cigars but he was always well meaning. 

 

A group of familiar dirty-faced Newsies surrounded the balcony of the church. Seeing Crutchie and Race heading their way, several of the boys began to crowd them. 

“Where ya been, Kid!?”

“You’se missed the bread but they’se gonna be bringing out more cups a soup soon.”

“Hurry it up, Crutch!”

Race pushed the clutter of boys back. “Hey-Hey, no crowdin’.” 

“There ya’ are!” The most familiar voice from the crowd, rang through Crutchie’s ears. The much taller, charismatic boy appeared from out of the mound of boys and gave Crutchie a strong clap on the shoulder. “Heya, Crutchie!” Crutchie grinned up at the older boy, letting his green eyes twinkle in the September sun with the kind of brightness only an older brother could bring out. 

“Heya, Jack!” Crutchie beamed, giving Jack a punch in the side. 

Jack punched him back, then wrapped an arm around the younger boy’s shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. “You’se lucky the nuns are still serving.” He gave Crutchie a light poke in the side. “I wouldn’t wan ya’ starvin’ you barley touched yer’ dinner last night. Katherine thought you didn’t like her cooking.” 

“It was a lot of food, Jack.” Crutchie’s eyes widened, remembering the table of plates Katherine had set out. “I really just wasn’t used to there bein’ so much. I just coul’nt eat.” He hugged his free hand to his middle. “I’m hungry now though.” 

“You better be. I expect you to drink your whole cup.” Jack chuckled as he ruffled Crutchie’s messy blonde hair, knocking back the brown Newsie cap. Crutchie laughed as he resituated the hat to its normal backwards position. 

Their attention was brought back to the church balcony as a small bell began to chime. The Newsies gathered around the railing, reaching up for the rusty tin cups that held the savory broth the nuns offered them every morning. Jack lowered himself and allowed Crutchie to climb onto his back, leaving the crutch forgotten on the ground. 

Two middle-aged nuns smiled back at them, Crutchie hugging his arms around Jack’s neck, while Jack held Crutchie`s legs, under his arms. “Why if it isn’t Mister Kelly and Mister Morris.” One of them chuckled as she began pouring the hot broth from an old pitcher into a silver tray of rusted tin cups. “How are you two this morning?” Her voice rang with a quiet sweetness, almost motherly toward the two orphaned Newsies. 

Jack shrugged, adjusting his grip on Crutchie’s legs. “Same old, same old, Sista` Christine.” He grumbled. “How about you, Crutch?” Jack bounced the boy up his back. 

Crutchie had his head rested on Jack`s shoulder, his eyes lightly shut as he attempted to catch a bit more sleep. “Hmm?” He muttered, cracking hazel eyes open. Seeing the middle-aged nun staring back at him, his cheeks began to tint a slight red. “Oh, I’m doin’ fine so far.” His blush only grew deeper.“Thanks for askin’, Miss.” 

Sister Christine smiled back at them, holding out the tray of soup. “I’m glad. Please take your share.” Two dirty hands reached for the cups. Crutchie immediately brought the rim to his chapped lips, taking heavy slurps of warm broth. “My aren’t we hungry?,” chuckled the nun. 

Crutchie tore the cup away from his lips, his cheeks brimming with red. “Sorry.” He tried covering his embarrasment with a laugh. “I didn’t eat all that much last night.” 

“I can see that.” The nun took her fingers and lifted Crutchie’s chin, squinting as she examined his dirty face. The evidence of once yellow and purple bruising was either gone or hidden by the dirt he earned from sleeping on the rooftop. “The bruising seems to have completely faded." She licked her thumb and, carefully, began to rub away some dirt off the side of his cheek. "When was the last time you had a bath, Honey?" 

Crutchie bit his lip, "`m sure it was recently." He knew it hadn`t been. Bathing was difficult to fit into the Newsies` daily routine. After a day of hawking newspapers all anyone really wanted to do was eat a somewhat warm meal and collapse from exhaustion. 

The fourteen Manhattan Newsies were forced to share a cramped bathroom with only one toilet, two sinks, and a single bath tub, nailed into the ground. The pipes that flowed through the house barely produced any warm water so after a freezing bath, slight little Crutchie would end up sniffling the rest of the night. He’d rather be dirty then deal with Jack fussing over him.

“Both a us may be due for a nice bath.” Said Jack. 

Sister Christine brushed back a few loose strands of Crutchie’s unruly blonde hair, “What about your ribs? They were looking better yesterday.” 

Crutchie nodded. "I`m doin` better I swear, Miss. All the bruisin`s pretty much gone." 

“Trust me I been checkin’ every night.” Jack cut in. “His ribs are mostly healed up.” 

“Jaack, ‘m fine now. ‘M all betta’.” He tried not to whine. 

He was ignored as Sister Christine continued. “And he’s not coughing anything up is he?”

“Oh, no that stopped once the pneumonia went away.” 

Crutchie sighed, leaning his chin against Jack’s brown curls and letting his eyes lay shut. A lot of things had happened since the strike had ended, and it was all beginning to blur together for Crutchie. 

He could remember a slew of high fevers mixed in with coughing up fluids and chest pain. People entered his room, shoving either a cold thermometer or some nasty medicine down his throat. Jack spent his every free moment sitting by the younger Newsie’s side, attempting to tame the fever with a wet cloth. Crutchie had woken up from his misery a few times and was able to talk to his best friend but all conversations were short and pertained to “You’re awake? How are you feeling? Does your chest hurt? Do I need to get the doctor?” The malady lasted another three weeks, before Crutchie was deemed well enough to start selling again. 

 

Crutchie hadn’t even realized he’d dozed off, when suddenly Jack was waving to sister Christine and they were heading toward the other Newsies. 

“Have a nice nap?”

Crutchie nodded, attempting to ignore the heavy yawn that passed his lips. “Just needed an ex’ra ten minutes.” Jack helped ease Crutchie back onto his feet, then grabbed the crutch, forcing its way under his arm. 

The boys clinked glasses. “Eat up, Kid.” Said Jack as he brought his tin cup to his lips. Crutchie was one step ahead, the cup tipped over into his mouth, hungrily slurping up warm broth. 

Jack took his spare arm and wrapped it around Crutchie’s shoulders, bringing the fifteen-year old closer to his side. With a heavy sigh, Crutchie finished off his portion of soup and dropped the tin cup in his hand. Jack side eyed him. “Finished?.” Crutchie only nodded, staring down at his right foot that was limp in front of him, only just gracing the ground. Jack held up his cup of soup. “I don’t need this anymore, ya’ know.” 

Crutchie looked up with sad eyes. “Cause a Pul’tzer?” 

Jack nodded, wiping the younger boy’s mouth with an old handkerchief from his pocket. “It’s a good thing though, Kid. I can afford food like real food and things with me and Kath have been going great. Everythin’s lookin’ up. And I’se been thinkin’—” He took the empty cup from Crutchie’s hands and replaced it with his mostly full one. “Well, never mind that for now, Drink up.” 

Crutchie wouldn’t deny he was still hungry, and the cup was already to his lips before he even thought about how greedy he was acting. Jack read the expression in Crutchie’s eyes as then younger Newsie slowly removed the cup from his lips. “Don’t ya’ worry, Crutch. I had breakfast with Kath. We’se gonna invite you next time. Fer now just drink my share a’ soup.” 

As long as it was okay with Jack and he wasn’t letting his best friend starve. Crutchie carefully brought the cup to his lips and began to slurp. He was happy for Jack—he really was, or at least that’s what he had to keep telling himself. Crutchie was chewing on his bottom lip again. 

“This is why you should eat dinner when it’s in fron’ a ya’, Kid. It isn’t good for you to be this hungry.” Jack clapped a hand against Crutchie’s shoulder. “Jacobi’s after we finish hawkin’ them mornin’ papes, my treat!” 

Wait. Crutchie reached into his pocket and pulled out the shiny quarter. “I can pay for myself t’day.” He held the coin out for Jack to get a look. “This nice lady gave me a whole quarter! Can ya’ believe that?”

Jack took the coin into his hand, rubbing his thumb into the soft indents. “Why don’t ya’ save it? That’s two days rent.” He shoved the coin back into Crutchie’s pocket then swung an arm around the younger boy. “I can afford ta’ buy the both ‘a us lunch.” 

Crutchie sighed, no use arguing and a big lunch sure sounded good. “Alrigh’ but afta’ I wanna buy ice cream for the both ‘a us!” 

Jack squeezed the fifteen-year old’s shoulder. “If that’ll make ya’ happy, Kid.” Crutchie nodded. “Now finish drinkin’ that soup and get to hawkin’ them papes.” He squeezed Crutchie’s shoulder, “Meet me at Jacobi’s ‘round noon?” 

“See ya’ then.” 

Jack waved to Crutchie, heading off toward his usual selling route. Crutchie smiled down at the broth in his cup, then brought it back to his lips, taking small sips. 

“Heya, Crutchie!” Race, Finch, and Elmer smiled back at him, still holding their own cups of soup. 

“Heya, fellas!” Crutchie greeted, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. 

“Say, what’s yer leg say?” Asked Elmer, nudging Crutchie’s shoulders. 

Finch pulled out his old sling shot, cocking his head as he aimed it at a tree. “Yeah, Kid. What’s you think.” 

Crutchie balanced on his left leg as he held out his right foot, chuckling. “Looks like sunny skies for us.” The older boys looked to each other, high fiving with happy grins. Crutchie leaned back on his crutch as he slurped the last of the soup. 

“Is that Jack’s?” Asked Race, pointing to the cup in Crutchie’s hands with his usual cigar. 

Crutchie nodded, again wiping away the messy remains left on his upper lip. “Said he don’t need it anymore.” Crutchie shrugged. “Guess he can buy his own now.” 

“Pulitzer did somethin’ good for once?” Finch raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah.” Crutchie, sighed. 

Finch and Elmer both placed an arm around Crutchie’s skimpy shoulders, sandwiching the sickly fifteen-year old between them. “Not still hungry are ya, Kid?” Race Asked, tipping his own cup toward Crutchie. 

Crutchie shook his head. “ ‘m full for now.”

“Well, that’s a first!” Laughed Elmer, nudging Finch’s shoulders. 

“Well, Jack wants ta’ take me to Jacobi’s after sellin’.” 

“Oh-ho-ho!” Finch and Elmer laughed as they released their arms from around Crutchie’s shoulders. 

“Aren’t ya’ the lucky boy to be best friends with Mr. Jack Kelly?” Snorted Race. 

Finch shoved the sling-shot back into the inside pocket of his vest, laughing. “Yeah, soon they gonna be havin’ dinner with the big n’ fancy fellows.”

“All cooped up in Pul’tzer’s office for them fancy meals with all them special forks and spoons!”

“Jack ain’t like that.” Huffed, Crutchie as he swung his heavy bag of papers onto his left hip. He hobbled off toward the balcony, following the still laughing older boys. They walked up to the nuns, beginning to clean up the soup cans. 

Unable to reach on his own, one of the old nuns walked down the steps to grab his cup. She smiled at him, then, caressed his dirty cheek. “Bless you, Deary.” Crutchie smiled back, thanking them for breakfast, then limped off back toward 11th street. 

“See ya’ round, Crutchie!” Was Shouted from the distance behind. 

Crutchie turned his head, slightly. “Yeah, I’ll see ya’ guys.” He swung the bag of newspapers back and held his head high. It was going to be a good day.


End file.
